Years ago I had a conversation with a born-Jewish friend in the months leading up to my Orthodox conversion. We were discussing Shabbat menus, and my yen for ethnic food prompted her to say, “I wonder what kind of Jew you’ll make.”
That sounded like a really insensitive thing to say, but I knew what she meant. I was not like the other Jews she knew—either the frum-from-births or the ba’alei teshuva. It makes me think of some of the oddities of my situation in the Jewish world. I know I’m a convert when…
· I’m hanging out with other converts in my former home town in New England, and when I mention that my ancestors first arrived in America on the Mayflower, they say, “You too?”
· my idea of a great Shabbat meal is tandoori chicken kebabs, aloo gobi, rice cooked with cardamom pods, and coconut rice pudding for dessert.
· gefilte fish and herring in wine sauce look, smell, and taste like cat food. Admit it.
· someone who grew up Jewish corrects my pronunciation, such as when I say “white fish salad” with equal stress on white and fish, and I’m informed that it’s pronounced WHITEfish (one word), and that chicken soup is pronounced CHICKensoup (also one word).
· everyone’s knickers are in a twist over kol isha, and all I can think is, “So WHAT?”
· I’m parading around shul holding three branches and a lemon and saying to myself, “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”
· I explain to my kids that “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” is a teshuva story.
· I overhear a born-Jew complaining about Judaism and saying, “Really—who signs up for this?” and all I can do is laugh until I cry.
· I get a little thrill every time I open a bottle of non-mevushal wine.
· I actually believe I was not Jewish before immersing in the mikvah, and was Jewish when I emerged from it.
(Many ba’alei teshuva may see themselves in some of these situations. This isn’t meant to exclude them; it’s just a few things I and other converts I know have experienced.)
Shimshonit 
How about when you’re at a Shabbat table, and people who are meeting for the first time spend half an hour talking about all the people they both know, and you’re sitting there silently?
Or the time when a frum Jew has fun playing a trick on you, making up crazy halachot that don’t exist, just to see your reaction? (Years ago, someone told me that some Hassidim have the custom of counting sefira every 30 minutes. I complained how unreasonable and inconvenient this was, but the ba’al habayit insisted that it was a custom. Finally, he told me that he was just playing with me.) I actually once saw a blog listing the 100 top ways to have fun playing jokes on a BT. (Tell him to drink the mayim aharonim, etc.)
I’ll say “amen” to the kol isha: http://michaelmakovi.blogspot.com/2009/02/kol-bishah-new-analysis.html
Very funny post.
I’m one of those born-Jewish people who absolutely can not understand why any sane person would voluntarily take the burdens and restrictions of Judaism upon themselves. (I’m not casting aspersions on your sanity specifically- it’s more of a blanket statement ( ;
And yes, I agree with you: gefilte fish and herring are repulsive, Kol Isha should not be such a big deal, and watching everyone march round with lulavs and etrogs strikes me as somewhat comical too.
The Yetzer never vanquish’d be until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him.
And in the case of whitefish salad, it’s actually salad made from a whitefish (which is a single word, and which group does not include all white fishes).
I often have this experience when people are talking about when their families immigrated to America (often including a Holocaust discussion.) I just sit and listen, usually. Then, if they ask me a direct question, I have to decide how much I want to reveal. I admit it’s a blast, after hearing about how someone else’s family came here in the 1920s, or maybe the 1890s, to say, “My father’s family arrived in 1745, but they were Johnny-come-latelies. My mom’s family arrived in 1630 and founded Windsor, Connecticut. I had ancestors on the Mayflower, too.”
It’s a definite attention-grabber.
I chuckled reading this post. I’m the child of a convert, so in some ways, I straddle both worlds. I’ve got the requisite Mayflower ancestors on one side, and the shtetl refugees on the other.
But eating a good Indian meal on shabbat? Disdaining jarred gefilte fish and schmaltz herring? I can’t think of any halachic stricture against a degree of gastronomic sophistication. Just because we ate poorly in Europe for centuries doesn’t mean we have to do the same today.
Nice post. :-)
A funny one for me is when people who meet me for the first time – usually in shul – ponder for a while on hearing my surname – which sounds more English than anything else although some Jews have the same name but usually with a different spelling – and then feel reassured I must be Jewish and conclude by saying “it means healthy in Hebrew.
Oh, how I miss those Shabbat dinners…….
Thanks everyone for your chimings-in.
Making the convert drink the mayim ahronim? Feh! Do you turn into a pillar of salt afterwards?
Susu: Oy, we do too!